a 4000 mile distant friend talks with me for 2 hours through the computer and later in the day i learn something about the rise of an earthen moon

it used to be i liked to put
colorful socks on my feet.
woolen, colorful, striped or
blocked. covered in shoes,
yes, but feet covered
in colorful wool.

i put my feet, bare,
on the morning carpet.
my feet putting me to stand.
it could stand a vacuuming,
this yawning carpet.

bundled socks in a rolled drawer,
their color has bled to pale.
these feet have given me ground
to stand on. colorful socks
adding millimeters to my height.
the color of these socks no longer
feels important, and i wonder
at the point of my feet.

toes point, flex upwards
to crack, settle to their balance.
the morning carpet needs
a vacuuming and
the youthful blue of rising sky
seems to expect too much from
me. i am inadequate
in all this gathering light.
only an hour into the waking
day and already i yearn
for voluptuous purple of night.
rolled socks in a bundled drawer
silently inhale, gathering
in the allowances of evening.
they can revel in their color, even
if i have gone blind to it.

a woman tells me to
put my pain into a tree.
we ask a lot of these trees.

take our breath!
now give it back to us!
anchor this soil for us,
so our feet have a place to purpose!

i do not know the point of my feet,
so round my toes into the morning soil,
waiting to feel the connectivity of root.
despite my inadequacy,
night does not abandon me.
even blind, i still see
its cascading color.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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